She’d had boyfriends before. She’d had fine sex with them, but never had she had fire. She hadn’t even known she’d been missing it.
Rowen wanted her all the time, and it was hot, hot, hot. Lately, she’d begun to remember the way her parents had so often disappeared into their room. When Annabelle turned four, they’d moved her bedroom to the opposite side of the house. As she grew older and began a little secret reading and exploring, she came to understand the reason for the move. A couple times when she was thirteen or fourteen, she’d stood silently outside their bedroom.
They weren’t gentle in their lovemaking, and they surely weren’t quiet.
She’d begun to realize that they’d wanted each other the way she and Rowen had come to do. She’d gotten over being embarrassed or ashamed. Every time Rowen pushed her to do something new, she came to like it. She trusted him now—very clearly, he knew more about what would feel good to her than she did.
To her significant surprise, Annabelle had even come to take pleasure in those moments when Rowen displayed his domineering tendencies. She liked to, um, submit.
Nothing about her past, not her accomplishments as an adult woman, not her previous sexual experiences, had given her a clue what a turn on it would be to bow to those darker inclinations.
He’d spank her while he fucked her into orgasm, and the sting of it would drive her into an oversensitized, exquisitely sharp climax. He’d put her on her knees while she took him in her mouth, and she loved it. That feeling of giving over, of giving up control, was a secret delight.
Perhaps it wasn’t politically correct. Perhaps it was lamentable behavior for a modern, independent woman.
But it seemed to speak to some basic, maybe primal desire in her to be owned by her man.
She wouldn’t accept it outside of their lovemaking. She wouldn’t allow it in any other aspect of their relationship. And it wasn’t even an issue. Annabelle knew without question that Rowen respected her intelligence and competence, her self-determination. They shared decision-making and control in all other realms of their lives together.
But when he fucked her, Rowen was in control. She submitted to whatever he wanted. And she always, always loved it.
His theater was dark tonight, and so she knew he’d be home waiting for her. Like it knew what was coming, her pussy had already begun to throb. On the stairs she flicked quickly at her nipples, making them hard. She remembered his stern instructions, weeks ago now. Whenever she was with him, he wanted to see her erect nipples poking out from behind her blouse.
Most often, when he was home before she was, he’d be ready when she opened the door. He’d push her back against it and start finger-fucking her pussy before she even dropped her purse and folio. He’d stick his tongue down her throat and tug at her nipple.
Sometimes he’d turn her around and fuck her right there. Other times, he’d bring her to climax with his fingers, or even just get her nearly there and then leave her hanging. All through dinner he’d give her hot looks and little prodding touches and caresses to keep her smoldering until finally, while they were on the couch watching TV, or later, when he took her to bed, he’d fuck her with a dick so hard it felt like a Louisville Slugger.
She never knew what it would be. But it would always be something, and always freaking hot.
She stopped when she got to the fifth floor to catch her breath. Between the stairs and frequent trips to the gym, she kept in shape. She needed it, to keep up with Rowen’s demands on her body. But it was never wise to cross her threshold already out of breath.
This time, the door opened before she even got there. Rowen stood leaning against the jamb, like the hot sex god he was. About as casual as he ever got, he wore a dress shirt all undone, soft white silk caressing his muscled chest and then draping over his ripped abs. Neat, dark-blue jeans fit tightly, holding back the long, hard cock that was already at half-mast. And rising.
He was ready for her. She swallowed slowly. She didn’t have to touch her own nipples again to please him. They were hard and tingling all on their own, and her cunt was already wet.
He stayed there in the doorway, though, and watched her in his knowing way. There was never a response her body had that he didn’t know about.
After a while his gaze came back from her tits and her pussy and met hers. “How’d the interview go?”
How sweet, a little foreplay. She smiled. “It went great. I got the job.”
He smiled back. “I knew you would.”
He was telling the truth. He had the greatest respect for her work, and on the rare occasion that someone turned down one of her proposals, he cussed the idiot out as a blind fucking asshole. His confidence in her was its own warm kind of turn on.
Now that very sexy mouth formed more of a quirk. “Feel like celebrating?”
Oh, yeah. She nodded slowly, but still he didn’t move.
“Open your purse. I want to see inside.”
Busted. With a mild blush warming her cheeks, Annabelle opened her purse for him. A little bit of white lace nestled on top of her wallet and makeup cases.
He peeked, and she saw his cock twitch.
“Annie,” he said. “You stopped on the third floor landing and took your panties off for me again, didn’t you?”
She was quiet but met his gaze unashamedly.
“Good girl. I like the white lace. It means you’re wearing that little white demi-bra from Le Mystère, doesn’t it?” She lifted her brow, daring him to find out.
Never one to resist a challenge, he grabbed hold of her jacket—a little, tight-fitting, peplumed, silk-and-linen blend of gray with pink pinstripes. The matching skirt was short and tight, with a slit in the back that Rowen was especially fond of. She liked it, too. She’d taken more than one subway ride with him standing behind her, middle finger up her cunt.
It was all part of a wardrobe that was new since he’d come into her life and pretty much taken over her shopping. She thought of it as her classy, call-girl style, kind of like a governor’s-hooker sort of outfit.
He pulled her in far enough to close the door then pushed her up against it. Ah, home at last.
“Are you wet for me, baby?”
He knew it, and set about finding out for himself. He started with unbuttoning her jacket. Underneath, nothing but a little Le Mystère, with two swollen pink nipples jutting out above, just waiting for someone’s hot mouth.
They weren’t kept waiting long. With a groan of excitement, Rowen bent and sucked one roughly into his mouth. At the same time, he pushed his hand up under her skirt and found her wet pussy. He shoved three fingers in deep, stretching her open, fucking her forcefully with them. So much for foreplay.
He had her other nipple in his fingers, pinching and tugging with the same rhythm he used in her cunt. Within minutes she was panting harshly, ready to come. At the last second, leaving her on the brink, he gave her one more good pinch and then stopped.
“Not yet, baby. I want to be inside you. I want to be fucking you hard when you come.”
Ah, she thought in relief. Not just a little tease today.
She cooperated readily as he turned her and pushed her up against the door. He kept a hand at the small of her back, prodding her forward. Her breasts, the tips still sensitive from his stimulation, were squeezed against the smooth wood of the door.
She could hear his rough breathing while he stood behind her, not speaking for a moment. He left her wondering what would be next, while her nipples and her pussy ached for him.
Then he spoke quietly. “Lift your skirt for me. I want to see your ass.”
Rowen loved her body. She’d spent years at the gym, trying to get rid of her generous curves. Within a month, he’d gotten her over her dissatisfaction with her shape. It was a womanly body, just made for a man to fuck. This man, he’d said. Now her days at the gym were all about stamina.
He’d coached her well, so she knew exactly what he wanted. She slipped her fingers down to t
he hem of her skirt. Ever so slowly she raised it, separating it at the slit so he got an early little peek at the very center of her ass.
His breath was coming harder when she finally had it all the way up, letting him look his fill. His hand moved from her waist, and she heard his zipper open and the little hum of pleasure that followed. He was stroking himself.
He put his hand between her shoulder blades, keeping her hard against the door, before he spoke. “Present your pussy to me. Let me see your hot little cunt. Do it, Annabelle.”
She knew what he was asking. With a moan of excitement, she moved her feet back. Her breasts slid lower, nipples chafing where they pressed into the door. When she had a little distance to bend over, she arched her back, opening herself to him like a bitch in heat.
“Christ, yes, baby. You’re my fucking cunt, aren’t you? Your pussy’s begging for it. I can see you, all pink and wet for me. I’m going to give you just what you’re asking for.”
A good, hard fuck. Yes, that was what she wanted. She moaned again when she felt him, the big head of his cock pressing into her opening. She was tight for his size, and, like usual, he paused just there, just where she had to accommodate the greatest breadth of him, just where it felt like he’d stretch her more than she could take.
He waited through a couple ragged breaths, letting her adjust.
He loved that moment of tease, knew that it drove her to the edge. Loved that it made her beg. “Ro,” she whimpered. “I need you. Hurry.”
He put both hands on her hips then, gripping hard, and thrust in deep.
“Ah, fuck, Annie. You feel so good. So fucking tight. So hot and wet. I can’t hold back, baby.”
And he didn’t. He let go, huffing and groaning his pleasure, shoving into her, out, and in again. Thrusting so that he filled her, gripping her ass with one hand and sliding the other around to rub her clit.
With that, Annie didn’t care how he used her, how roughly he took her. She was there, right with him. She rocked back with each thrust, taking more of him, and forward as he withdrew, making the most of his fingers stimulating her clit. She urged him on, asking for more, telling him how much she loved what he was doing to her.
“Yeah, yeah,” he chanted, encouraging her. “Come, baby. I need you to hurry.”
She felt him tightening, heard the urgency of his breath. Luckily, she was keeping up. His fingers moved between her legs, and she rubbed frantically against him, then back for the maximum depth of his thrust.
They climaxed together, both of them spasming and crying out. He kept pumping into her, prolonging the orgasm, rubbing against her even as she started whimpering for respite.
Finally he halted, leaning into the door, supporting her with his arms wrapped around her. He slipped out of her, gently stroking her while their breathing eased.
When she had her legs back, she turned and slid her arms around him. After a while she lifted her head from his shoulder. “I’m going to go clean up and change clothes.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to stay dressed tonight. And I’ll clean you up—in my favorite way.”
Hmm. Well, she’d never object to that, cooperating again as he leaned her back against the door and went to his knees in front of her.
Annabelle closed her eyes, her body impossibly readying itself for more pleasure. “Why am I staying dressed?”
She started to lose her train of thought as Rowen hooked her skirt with his thumbs and slid it up her thighs, nails slightly abrading, just ahead of his tongue.
“I have a friend coming by, a guy I knew in college.”
“Mmm.” His words barely registered as he started to lick her pussy. It had come as a surprise to her, the way he loved to eat her, to taste her. But in a very short time she’d developed quite an appreciation. Now she kept herself shaved clean for him—not wanting anything to hinder his finding the way.
Annabelle shook her head, trying to hold the thought. “When is he coming?”
Rowen pressed harder, working his tongue between her thighs. “Open for me, baby. Let me have you.”
Thus encouraged, she opened her legs and slid down a little. Always ready to help, Ro put his hands under her thighs to support her while she tilted forward, offering herself up to his pleasure. And, God knew, hers.
“He’ll be here soon,” he said.
But it was lost on her as he went seriously about his business. He licked at her, wiping up the wet traces of their lovemaking. Every so often he dipped his tongue into her, a gratuitous but entirely welcome gesture. Then he began circling her clit, coming closer and closer. From experience, she knew he was waiting for that change in her breathing that signaled her eager impatience. He loved it when she got a little feisty.
Soon she gave little spontaneous jerks of her pelvis, wordless commands. Then she used words, swearing even. “Harder, Rowen. I need to come. Hurry, dammit.”
If she had time to think about it, she’d be sure he was grinning when he thrust his thumb into her pussy and took her clit into his mouth. Tonguing her, sucking her, he had her moaning incoherently, rocking into him harder and harder, when suddenly he stopped.
He gave her clit a good kiss and then stood up, fastening his pants and closing a couple buttons on his shirt.
She shook her head, ears still ringing in want of pleasure. “What?” she said. “What did you say?”
He smiled and reached to fasten her jacket, brushing her tender nipples with the silk lining. “I said, I guess now. I guess he’s coming now.”
Still half stunned, and all the way hot and bothered, she responded automatically as he took her arm and nudged her aside. Then he opened the door.
Chapter Two
Kevin Orcutt was not one to get in the way of a brother having a little pussy. But it had been a long day. He’d traveled from Bumfuck, Iowa or Indiana or somewhere, settling his troupe into their off, but not off, off-Broadway theater, and then making the hike with three bags from Grand Central. He’d waited patiently through round one. He’d leaned beside the door, fondly recalling some of the mind-blowing group fucks he’d had with his pals Rowen and Braeden. Ah, for the good old days. He got a little hard just standing there.
But round two didn’t sound like it was going to end soon. And damned if he didn’t need to take a leak and then throw back a beer.
Rowen’s piece of ass was going to have to wait for him to finish her up later. He knew the type already—tall, skinny blonde with fake tits, wanting to claim a place as the latest fuck-buddy of Broadway’s hottest young actor. In Rowen’s life, they were a dime a dozen, and if she went away unhappy, well, at least she went away.
Besides, Ro should thank him for breaking it up while she was still pretending to like sex. By the sounds, she made a pretty good show of it. Maybe she really was an actress.
Anyway, Rowen had offered to share his place for whatever kind of run Kevin’s show managed. He didn’t care if he had to sleep on a couch—this close proximity to the Theatre District was worth gold.
To his mind, an old college pal in need of a bed trumped fuck-buddy pussy.
So he rearranged things to make himself presentable and knocked a couple times. Then a couple times more, having to compete with the moans coming from the other side of the door and the pounding it was taking in the name of hot sex.
Prepared to cool his heels, he was surprised at how quickly things went from midfuck to door open. And more surprised yet when he got a look at Rowen’s piece.
He might have been right about the tits, because damned if she didn’t have a pair. Though he had to say they looked real, not all that well hidden behind her tight little jacket with one important button left undone. But he was entirely wrong about the rest. She was a petite thing with fucking generous curves. She was no blonde, but had sleek dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She had a face that wasn’t glamorous by any means, but still very pretty—sweet and hometownish, rather than big-city sophisticated.
And despite t
he fact that she was clearly still in the throes of thwarted passion—he was pretty sure Ro had had his tongue inside her not two minutes before—she looked like she had a brain in her head. Her sexy little silk suit seemed to confirm it.
She blushed hotly as he took a good look at her. Just like she had not twenty minutes ago.
A stranger, she’d been walking just ahead of him as soon as he hit 46th. He’d slowed down to enjoy the view along the way—shapely ass that moved just right in that tight, slit skirt, extraordinary legs that rocked those classy high heels.
Kevin found himself very interested and gratified when she turned into Rowen’s building. He lost track of her then—she took the stairs while he talked himself past the doorman. On a whim, with a burst of energy he didn’t know he had, he left his luggage and tore up the stairs after her.
Just as he turned up to the third floor, he saw her. She was bending over, sliding her panties off. When she straightened and turned to slip them into her purse, she caught him looking. He raised a fascinated eyebrow, and she blushed furiously. Then, like she hadn’t even seen him, she proceeded up the stairs.
After she disappeared from sight, he shook himself, slowly coming to his senses. The hot little siren had clearly been preparing herself for someone else. But he had a hard dick that was wishing it had been for him. He’d have been more than happy to take those next ten steps to reach her. He’d have been sure to make her happy, too. Instead, a bit regretful, he went back to his luggage and a sensible elevator ride.
God, he loved New York.
He enjoyed the good long look now while she dealt with the blush. That little adjustment he’d made had to be made all over again.
Grasping again at sanity, Kevin moved his gaze to Ro.
His pal kept a hand at the woman’s waist but put the other out to clasp Kevin into a hug. “Kev,” he said. “It’s great to see you.”
Ro pulled him inside the apartment as though he was welcome, as though he hadn’t just been getting hard while ogling the man’s lay.
In fact, as they finished their greeting, Kevin considered Rowen’s expression. He was open and friendly and kept Kevin close with an arm slung over his shoulder. Making a cozy little threesome of them. With the scent of pussy in the air.
Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2